“Why ain't you comin' to meetin', Mr. Hammond?”
“'Cause I don't feel like it, that's why.”
“I want to know! Well, you DON'T seem to be in a pious frame of mind, that's a fact. Better come; you may not feel like church, but I should say you needed it, if ever anybody did.”
Caleb did not deign a reply. He stalked across the road and took the path to the shore.
As he came opposite the Parker cottage he saw Hannah Parker at the window. He nodded and his nod was returned. Hannah's experience was as gloomy as his own. She did not look happy and somehow the idea that she was not happy pleased him; Abbie Larkin had been altogether too happy; it grated on him. He was miserable and he wanted company of his own kind. He stopped, hesitated, and then turned in at the Parker gate.
Hannah opened the door.
“Good mornin', Caleb,” she said. “Come in, won't you? It looks sort of chilly outdoor.”
This WAS a kindred spirit. Mr. Hammond entered the Parker sitting-room. Hannah motioned toward a chair and he sat down.
“Mornin', Hannah,” said Caleb. “'Tis chilly. It'll be a mercy if we don't catch our deaths, dressed the way some of us be. How's things with you?”
Miss Parker shook her head. “Oh, I don't know, Caleb,” she answered. “They ain't all they might be, I'm afraid.”